


Always Running in East Berlin

by littlelionlady



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: BAMF Illya, Berlin (City), Cold War, F/M, Ficlet, Fictober, Fictober 2019, Light Angst, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong, Napoleon is a Little Shit, Prompt Fic, Running, Running Away, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20878316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionlady/pseuds/littlelionlady
Summary: The area has changed a lot since Gaby was there last.





	Always Running in East Berlin

**Author's Note:**

> Fictober 2019 Entry 2: "Just follow me, I know the area."

No one particularly liked being back in East Berlin, the least of all Gaby, who felt as though she was going to suffocate at any given moment, despite the cold that sunk into her bones and made her toes and fingers ache. Illya’s constant scrutiny, as if waiting for her to break, was not helping. Neither was Solo’s fake  blasé attitude; they were both watching her, out of the corner of their eyes, waiting. 

She wondered if Waverley had put them up to it. It wouldn’t have surprised her - their superior had a tendency for forgetting who she was, what she was capable of. Gaby could play the long game. She already had. 

Their mission was a simple one, but it had stuck Gaby’s breath in her throat. The corners of her eyes had prickled, and she had found herself surprised to be rendered this way, with a feeling too heavy and dense in her chest. It was not often that words gripped her and refused to let go; she had learnt early to drown the Stasi out, but Waverley’s voice wrapped around her a  _ squeezed  _ like a giant snake. 

“Your old garage Miss Teller, I’m sorry to say, was seized by the Stasi,” Waverley flicked his eyes up from the file to meet hers, and she could see the sadness, the pity. It was mirrored in Illya and Solo. It made her feel sick, the shock causing her fingers to shake on the glass she held in her hand. She wondered if they knew what it was like to lose the last of something that, for a time, was inexplicable belonging to you. Illya had made a small wounded noise, almost on her behalf, or maybe simply just  _ because  _ of her. He was always so gentle, so cautious. She did not afford him the same regard, instead opting to let the impact wash through her system, whilst maintaining a blank face. 

It wasn’t a surprise, not really. She couldn’t afford for it to be; not in this world, not on this side of the wall. She had known it would happen, but a small part of her, the part that recognised fresh snow and enjoyed beautifully cut dresses, and held onto a small hope that Illya would end his gentle gaze with a scorching kiss to her waiting mouth, was gut wrenched on her behalf. Her home, her livelihood. The diminishment of her garage made worldwide espionage her only safety and solace now. She waited to feel angry. 

She had been waiting for a while. 

It was not enough to stop her from taking the folder from Waverley, “So I guess I’m taking point then,” she said, surprised by how steady she sounded. 

“If you so desire,” he waved a dismissive hand, “it’s not a top priority, but it is covert. Do  _ not  _ get caught. You have this evening to gather yourselves. The flight leaves at oh-eight-hundred,” he smiled then, quick and warm and charming, and Gaby wondered at the type of spy Waverley was. 

*

Illya felt warm against her back, but he was, as always, standing too close. She turned around with the intention of whispering for him to step back, but found instead her nose level with his chest, causing the statement to lose some validity. It died on her tongue. 

She shoved him slightly, but he barely moved. So instead she sighed and moved further around the corner and out of the alleyway. Illya did not follow immediately. 

“You do know,” Napoleon drawled in her ear, completely disregarding the seriousness of the job, “He only does that to be close to you?”

She could feel an unnecessary blush rise in her cheeks, “You do know,” she whispered back furiously, “That this line isn’t for you to play with.” 

She heard his quiet chuckle and vowed to pour all his scotch down the drain. Or maybe drink it. She would certainly be able to feel her toes afterwards. Or maybe nothing at all. That was dependent on how much he left her. 

Illya cleared his throat behind her and caused her to jump. She turned back to him and shot a rude hand gesture. He pretended not to notice. Professionalism was not her forte. In her ear, Napoleon snorted. 

“Just follow me,” she stood up straighter and took Illya’s arm, glad that she had worn shabbier clothes than usual, “I know the area.” 

The garage was only three streets up, but every step felt like a mile to Gaby. She waited to recognise a landmark that told her how close they were. The small landmarks one simple knows through long held familiarity; the colour of a particular patch of cement exactly fifteen steps from the front door, Mrs Soandso's heavy rye bread baking two stories up directly across the road, how the snow curled a certain way into a fault in the gutter. She waited as they walked, breath tightening in her lungs, harder to push out. 

The reached the corner where her garage once was, all the lights off, save for the street light diagonally across the road. The one she had seen Illya under when Napoleon had first directed her to look outside when the threat of hanging by her toes in a cellar had seemed too real. 

The back of her neck prickled at the same time Illya stiffened next to her. In no time at all he had her pressed against the snow, could feel it crushing under the ribs and knees. The tell tale ping of a bullet ricocheting drawing a winded laugh from Illya. 

She stared at him, dumbfounded but all her offered in response was a, "Knew this was bad idea," before he raised his gun, still plastering Gaby to the ground, and fired off two shots into the darkness. 

An answering one zinged by Illya right ear and he ducked down hard, winding her. 

"We need to move Chop-Shop, are you ready?" 

He smiled at her, tried to be reassuring, but his eyes betrayed his thrill.  _ Ah, the chase.  _

It would be different running for her life through East Berlin this time. Different because Illya was on her side. 

She grinned back. 

"Ready."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr! [thelittlelionlady](https://thelittlelionlady.tumblr.com/)! Come say hi!


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